When Logic Fails
by HeCallsMeHisChild
Summary: After the Flaversham case, Basil discovers that little Olivia had done more than steal his heart, she's awakened unwanted memories. At the same time, Ratigan is alive and he's about to drop a bombshell on Basil's already fragile world...
1. Nightmares

**Note:** Due to the fact that this was written such a long time ago and I think I could do a much better job, or at least clean it up a bit, I've taken it upon myself to rewrite and or edit this story chapter by chapter.

**Prologue**

He gasped, tearing at his pillow with frantic grasps. "Filly… No… said to stay… I'll get her… NOOOOOOO!" He lurched up in bed, his breath coming in great gulps. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the phantoms he had seen a moment ago in… his… dreams. Frustrated, he dragged his paws through his sweat-soaked hair. Sighing, he pulled himself out of bed. There would be no more sleep that night for Basil of Baker's Street.

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**Chapter I**

The whistling tea-kettle called him to the stove. Mechanically he lifted it off the burner and poured its contents into a thick, lumpy brown mug. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Olivia had dropped by his home Christmas morning to present her gift.

"Made it m'self." She had grinned impishly.

He picked up the mug and moved into the living room, easing himself into the armchair. Staring blankly at the cold fireplace, he stirred the tea aimlessly.

_I should make up a fire if I'm going to sit here all night._ But he made no move to do so. His vision was spinning and he was sucked through the years and the darkness…

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"_Now, dear, be careful with her!"_

_He stopped for a moment to glance at the speaker, a slim, beautiful mouse with soft, white fur. She had put on a light, patterned summer gown, and her paws fidgeted with her necklace._

_Basil laughed at his wife's concern and called back, "Come now, Filly, do you really think I could hurt her even if I tried? She's a big, strong girl, aren't you, Leesha?"_

_The mousling gazing up at him gave a smile fit to split her light-tan face. "Of course father! I can take on anything!" she rammed into him to prove herself, and he obliged by falling down dramatically._

"_Oh, I'm wounded," he wailed, "The great Leesha has brought me down."_

_The little one paused from her play, worry creasing her face._

"_This is the end of me," he continued. Terrified that she had actually caused her father harm, she scampered to his side. He promptly caught her up in his arms and twirled her around and around as she shrieked in delight…_

_Abruptly the image warped and shifted. His child's face twisted with fear, screaming… screaming…_

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"Oh, my good fellow, are you alright?"

Basil started, spilling stone-cold tea all over his night-robe. Years of training leapt into action as he leaped across the room and placed the intruder in a stranglehold before he realized that the spluttering mouse he was holding was Dawson. He let go, deeply embarrassed. "Oh, Dawson, it's you. So sorry old chap, through it was… someone else."

"I'll say!" exclaimed the portly mouse in bewilderment. "Where on earth did that come from?"

"Nowhere… and everywhere," was the uneasy reply. He bent to clean up my mess. After a brief pause, Dawson joined him.


	2. The Note

_He leans over, kissing the sleeping head goodnight. She shifts and mumbles something, throwing her tiny paws in the air. He catches them gently and sets them down, tucking her under the covers. His heart swells with love for the small, curled form._

"_Goodnight, Leesha."_

_Tiptoeing out he is met by Filly. She places a loving paw on his arm, which he seizes and kisses. Her paws are wrinkled and calloused from work at the laundry but he doesn't care. They are beautiful to him._

_She pulls her hand away and circles her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. He brings his arms up behind her to hold her close. He can smell the soap in her fur. They stand in the hallway, just holding each other…_

_The view shifts. He still holds her, but she is not holding him, she _can't_ hold him. Her arms lie limply by her side and her eyes are vacant. He is crying… crying…_

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"Blast!" Basil looked up from the breakfast table to see who had shouted. He wondered why the housekeeper and Dawson were staring, until he realized that _he_ was the one who had yelled.

"Ah.. ahem… excuse me, my _deepest_ apologies." He blushed. The housekeeper's brows were drawn together in a deep frown.

"Basil, you've been acting strangely lately," said Dawson cautiously, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He hastily assured. "And everything," he mumbled to himself. Dawson shot him a sharp look, having heard the last part as well. Basil dropped his gaze back to his plate.

He chewed on his muffin quietly, but in his mind a thousand curses raged. _No!_ He corralled his emotions, _You are NOT in control, you will NOT take over! Oh blast, I have to distract myself or I'll slip and lose it again. I cannot, I will not go back to that black hole again. Get ahold of yourself and think, Basil! What is the opposite of emotion, what can obliterate emotion… Logic! Yes, Logic. I need a case, that will calm me down, pull me out of this. But a case isn't just going to knock on the door because I need one, I might not get another case for weeks. That would be too late! I'd be sucked down into that pit again. NO! There must be something I can concentrate on. Let's see, Puzzles? No, I finish them too quickly. Hmmm… Chemicals? But what would I make? Maybe painting would---_

The housekeeper's shriek snapped him out of his reverie. A quick glance at the table revealed I'd been lost in thought for quite a while, for breakfast had been cleared away and he was alone at the table. He sprang to his feet, overturning the chair, and rushed toward the screams.

He found her in the kitchen, in Dawson's arms. He was consoling her as best he could, but the poor mouse was overwhelmed himself. Catching Basil's eye, he motioned to an open note on the counter. Basil picked it up and scanned it.

_To the scum-sucking second-rate detective it may concern,_

_Guess who?_

Basil's last shred of confidence left. He sagged against the counter. "So," he whispered, "He's still alive." After a moment, he crumpled the note in his hand and shrilled at the ceiling, "God in heaven, haven't I endured enough already?"

"Basil!" Dawson's tone brought his gaze back down. His housekeeper was trembling and sobbing.

He threw his paws in the air. "What do you want me to say to her, Dawson? That everything will be alright? That I can catch him for sure this time? Nothing is certain anymore, Dawson. Do you hear me? NOTHING IS CERTAIN ANYMORE! He was supposed to be dead, but somehow he's not, HE'S NOT! He's still roaming the streets and plotting from the sewers. I've expended every effort I have, Dawson. There's nothing left to throw at him! So I'm sorry," He seethed, directing his attention to the quivering housekeeper, "But I can't assure you or calm your fears or anything of the sort because I've got too many bloody fears myself."

She sat weakly and tried to stifle her sobs.

"Oh take the day off." Basil snarled. "I want to be alone." Without waiting for a response, he fled upstairs, ignoring her tears and Dawson's outraged indignation.

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_He curled into a ball, trying to give their fists and claws a smaller target. Pounding and scratching from all sides. A large paw found his shirt collar and snatched him off the ground. He gasped, trying to breathe as the nightmarish figure thrust his face into Basil's._

"_Wha'ssa matter, Bashil? Can't put up yer dukes?" Basil could smell Rodent's Delight on Ratigan's breath. He held his silence. He knew Ratigan was in perfect control, the rat could always hold his liquor, but was putting on a drunk act to frighten him_

"_Awww, Bashil, not even gonna put up a fight? That'sh okay." He clumsily patted Basil's head with his other paw. "Everyone knowsh that meeses can't fight back. Too shm-shmall an' weak." Basil refused to respond._ _Ratigan frowned and flung him against the wall where his head cracked against the smooth stone of Oxford's dormitory._

"_Shee you 'round the good ole campush!" Ratigan giggled over his shoulder, waving at his gang to follow._

_Basil lay stunned for a while, then slowly picked himself up and crawled to his dormitory, where his roommate, Dormas, helped him clean himself up._

"_Someday, Dormas," Basil winced as his friend helped clean his cuts, "Someday Ratigan will be—umf—a wanted criminal."_

_Dormas laughed good-naturedly and asked, "And what will you be?"_

_His eyes narrowed to slits as he whispered, "The detective who puts him away."_


	3. Assigned

Up one street, down the next, he wandered the cul-de-sacs in aimless loops. Pacing in the park like a mouse that had lost something, Basil frantically tried to hold on to his crumbling sanity. Grief shot through him at the morning's memories. Though long forgotten, they'd been dredged from the depths of his mind.

The sound of laughter jerked him from his thoughts. Glancing up, he found himself by the playground and, much to his chagrin, face-to-face with an upside-down Olivia Flaversham.

"Basil!" She giggled from her position on the monkey-bars. "Catch me, I'm slipping!"

Dutifully he held out his arms…

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"_Hold on, Leesha! I'm coming!" He forced his legs to move faster, pushing them as hard as he dared. Those screams, where were they coming from? There! He turned and skittered into an ally, bowling into a stocky lizard that seized and held him tightly. Basil writhed but could not free himself._

_A low chuckle halted his frantic struggle. Horror clenched his stomach as he looked up to see Ratigan holding his daughter. She was bound in wire, but her mouth had been left ungagged. _All the better to lure me,_ he thought grimly._

"_Father! Father help!" Her sea-blue eyes were wide with terror. He ached to take her in his arms and run from the place, but he could do nothing._

"_Well well well, wonderful performance, my dear, you have brought me your father." smiled the rat._

"_I'm not your dear, let me go!" She howled, biting his gloved hand. Shouting an oath, he dropped her in surprise._

"_Go, Leesha! Roll away and scream!" Yelled Basil. But Ratigan snatched her up once more. Scowling, he jerked his head at his followers. The lizard hoisted Basil onto his shoulders and followed Ratigan._

_Several twists, turns, and alleyways later, they arrived behind an old dumpster where Basil was dumped in a gilded chair. Before he could twitch, wrist clamps and leg restrainers locked down on him._

"_You should be proud, Basil," Ratigan sneered, "That is my personal chair. Very few sit in that chair and rise alive."_

_Basil raised his brow. "Does that mean I'm going to live?"_

_Ratigan bared his fangs in an ugly grin. "We shall see." He snapped his fingers and Leesha was brought forward by two thugs. The wires had cut into her skin, and a thick cloth was stuffed in her mouth. Blood matted parts of her fur. Her tail trembled, but her face was defiant._

_Basil's attention was snagged by the sight of a bonfire blazing several feet away. A few of Ratigan's thugs fed the fire with woodchips, crowing with anticipation. His stomach knotted tighter as Ratigan grabbed Leesha by the tail and dragged her toward the flames. Without a shadow of emotion on his face, Ratigan picked up the trembling mouse, looked her squarely in the eyes, and dropped her into the flames._

"_NO!" His scream burst out, "Ratigan no! Not her!" Ratigan merely laughed and released Basil's wrist restraints. He launched from the chair, falling short of the fire by a few inches, for his leg clamps held tight. He stretched his arm, his fingertips brushing the flames, but he was unable to touch his daughter._

_Her eyes shut tightly and her little body curled into a tight ball in a futile attempt to escape the heat. She could not scream, could not speak, but as her hair and flesh danced with flames, she opened her eyes and looked at Basil. In her eyes he saw silent screams of anguish and confusion why her father wouldn't help her. Her body shuddered a bit, then lay limply among the flames._

_He couldn't speak, he couldn't think. All he could see was his child burning, burning and screaming silently._

_He didn't feel the arms hoisting him from the ground and unlocking his leg clamps. He didn't feel pain when arms threw him to the ground. But he heard his wife coming. With the last of his strength, he screamed, "Filly! No! Go home! Go—"_

_A gunshot echoed through the alley. Ratigan swaggered around the corner, blowing smoke from his pistol. "Let him go, men. He won't be worth a cracked farthing after this." He grinned and swept an entrance bow, inviting Basil to see his handiwork. Basil leapt from the ground and scampered around the corner, daring to hope—_

_There she lay, in her Sunday dress, her head split open and gushing blood._

_He dropped to his knees, retching. Gathering her body in his arms, he wept. He sensed Ratigan standing over him, but he didn't care. He heard police sirens drawing nearer, but he didn't care. All he could do was sit and rock his wife's body, as her blood soaked into his clothing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…_

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"Mr. Basil, what's wrong?" Olivia was staring at him. He touched his cheek and felt wet, matted fur.

"Blast if I know, Olivia," he choked.

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The small figure huddled in an oversized cloak, rushing past the empty streets. _This work's best done at night,_ she mused to herself. She glanced up at the lamp-lit street signs and swore. _Won'erful. Lost again. Knew this would happen. Ain't my fault though, if he'd let me out more often I'd'a got to know these bloody streets by now!_ She frowned, scanning the road for people. Her gaze snagged on a tall mouse, dressed in a warm overcoat, walking briskly up the street.

Relieved, she nearly called to him, but something held her back. Instinct told her to watch first and be seen later, and instinct had never been wrong. Silent as the shadows, she trailed him for nearly a mile until he turned a corner at the cemetery. Frowning in surprise, she eased in after him.

The mouse continued more slowly now. The moonlight illuminated his face, and she was astonished to see great tears rolling down his cheeks. _Blow me, I thought fer shur their sex never cried._ Fascinated, she crouched in the shadow of an angelic monument and watched.

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Trembling, he approached their graves. He had ordered the most beautiful headstones, black-veined white marble. He knelt on the ground, caressing the monuments, patting the ground.

"Got the best for them, of course. Couldn't get less, they deserved the best." Basil spoke quietly to himself, unaware of his audience. "Had to get the best for them. Had to make up… had to make up… for… not saving…" He crumpled to the ground, covering the graves with kisses and tears. Wracked by grief, he could only cry, "I'm sorry," to the cold, unfeeling earth.

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She was astounded. She had never seen such a display. Who was this mouse and who were the graves for?

Unsure of her reasons, she trailed the tall mouse to his home. With a jolt, she realized he was leading her to her assignment's house. _What luck!_ She allowed ten minutes' time after he had entered the house, then walked up and knocked on the door. Quickly smearing onion juice under her eyes to ensure a convincing cry, she pulled up her cloak and looked up to meet the eyes of the most haggard mouse she had ever seen. His appearance was so pitiful, she doubted her need for onion juice to conjure weeping.

"P-pardon me g-g-good sir, I'm l-looking for me daugh-ter. I th-think she ran away-ay. Ha-have ye seen her? She's sh-short wit' coal-black f-fur an'—"

"I'm sorry, madam, but I haven't seen a mouse of that description." Basil sighed.

She lowered her face into her hands and wept.

"Madam, it's late, why don't you come in and have some tea." He offered half-heartedly.

"Oh thank-you," she sniffled, "Some tea may 'elp me think wh-where she g-gone." She peered inside the nicely furnished apartment and asked, "Y-your master won't mind?"

"I am the master of this house," he stated wearily, "Basil of Baker's street."

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She felt her heart skip and fall. Gritting her teeth, she set her will. There was no way around it. Grieving mouse or not, he was her assignment, and he had to be dealt with. Wringing her hands, she walked into the apartment.


	4. Confrontation

He couldn't put his paw on it, but Basil sensed something wrong about his visitor. The way she kept wringing her hands--it could have been anxiety for the allegedly missing child--or it could be nerves because… he shook the thought off. _I'm tired. Exhaustion often brings on paranoia_. Glancing over her, he noticed the fur on her paws was quite sparse, and that they had a number of unusual wrinkles on them. He poured her some mint leaf tea and motioned to an overstuffed cloth chair. _Something's not quite right about this. There's something in the air... it almost... almost smells like... onions?_

Without taking her eyes off the teacup, the mouse pleaded, "I heard so much about ye, that ye can solve any case, that ye kin track any crook. I've all th' newspapers 'bout th' Flaversham case. If—if ye could find yer way to," she took a deep breath, as if collecting herself, "To help me find my littul gurl," she wiped away more tears, "I would be so happy." She peered up anxiously. "I dunna have lotsa money, but I kin work fer th' rest. Please! She means heaps t' me—" she sighed. "But I suppose ye would'na understan', bein' a bachelor."

Basil sucked in a breath. "Not a bachelor, madam, a widower."

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Shocked, the mouse tightened her grip on the teacup. _A widower? He tol' me th' mouse was a bloody bachelor! Filthy, stinkin', crawlin', connivin'—_Hastily, she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry. Were ye close?"

"Very." he murmured, focusing on the rug.

Venturing a bit farther, she asked, "And kids?"

"Gone. My wife and daughter were killed." He fumbled with his pipe and struck a match to light it, not catching the wince that crossed his guest's face. Abruptly realizing how cold the room was, he trudged out for firewood.

_Now ya done it, big blunderin' oaf. _She sighed. Why did her first assignment have to be so hard? _Cause 'e wants t' test ya_ she mocked, _wants t' make sure where yer loyalties lie._ Sighing, she adjusted her hat to hang over her face. It didn't matter to _him_ whether the target saw her or not, but it mattered to her. She hated the stares, it hurt too much.

A rattling thump drew her attention to the fireplace, where Basil bent to unload firewood. Panic clawed at her throat, but she gripped the teacup and forced herself to keep still. _Ye kin do this. It's jus' a little 'un. Not wild. It can't touch ye. It can't touch ye. It… it can't…_

He struck the match. With growing horror, she watched his paw descend to the wood.

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"NO!" The young lady exploded from her seat and fled for the door. Astonished, Basil hastily snuffed out the match and ran after her. She reached the door and flung it open, dashing outside as rain began to fall.

"Stop, wait, did I do something wrong?" He called, a few footsteps behind her, wondering to himself what was wrong with lighting a fire. Halfway down the street he managed to grab her shoulder and spun her around to face him. Her hat fell away and her coat pulled back, revealing her frightened features.

Her face had no fur, her eyes no lashes. Her skin was covered in blackened scars, twisted every which way as tortured, mutilated skin broke through beneath. Rain formed rivulets down her cheeks, making puddles in the deep cracks and crevices there. Their eyes met for a moment. Then she spun around and dashed into the nearest alley. Blindly, he rushed after her, but she had disappeared.

He stood in the pouring rain, unable to believe what he had seen.

Her eyes were sea-blue.

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She huddled in the sewer, crying real tears. Swiping at them angrily, she fumed. _Who the blazes was that mouse? Why's 'e so bleedin' familiar?_

The shame, the shame, she had to get away or she would die of shame. _This is all _his_ fault, when I get back I'll, I'll…_ she chuckled. _That's a real good'un, Leesh. What can a puny li'l mouse like ye do to th' likes o' Ratigan?_

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"Snicky! Snicky! Blast, where's 'e got to?" Her shouts drew stares from all over the crowded hall. Its great, arched dome glittered with stolen gold and jewels. Unless brought through the secret entrance, one would never believe it was all underground. Leesha scanned the besotted masses until her eyes locked on a tall, green lizard, swaying drunkenly and cackling. Shoving her way through the crowd, she seized his claws and dragged him aside, muttering apologies to his friends.

"Awww, what'sh tha big idee, Leesh? I was jus' in tha middle of a right filthy joke too," he whined.

"Shut up, ye big lout, an' tell me where's Ratigan."

His eyes widened. "Nobody goes to tha bossh until _he_ callsh for _ush._"

"I dunna give th' rat's end," she snarled, "Jus' tell me where 'e is!"

Snicky roared with laughter. "Aw, thish'll be reel good, you up againsht the bossh. I'll placshe my bets." Wiping his eyes, he pointed a shaky finger down a long corridor. "He'sh down there, in da private room. Think he'sh thinking 'bout tha bleedin' detective again. Shurely ish misshing a good party." With that, he ambled off to find more champagne.

Without a word, she pelted down the hall.

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"Ratigan!" She burst into the room to find him standing at the far end, musing at a stunningly painted portrait of… _her assignment?_

Turning, he smiled graciously. "Leesha! My dear, do come in."

_I'm'na yer dear!_ Her mind screamed. Aloud she growled, "What was that fer?"

"What was what for?" he asked, arching an eyebrow innocently.

"Ye know bloody well what! Ye send me t' a bloody mouse house in th' middle of th' bloody night tellin' me 'e's a bleedin' bachelor wit' no fam'ly so I kin kill 'im, an' what does 'e tell me? He ain't no bloody bachelor, 'e's a _widower,_ Ratigan, an' a sadder mouse I never seen in all me blasted days!" She paused for a breath. "So what in blazes did ye mean sendin' me down t' kill a mouse what's already had th' stuffin' kicked out o' 'im? T'ain't right t' kill an enemy what's not up fer a fight!" She glared at him.

He grinned, showing his gleaming white fangs. "Leesha, Leesha, Leesha. You and your pathetic scruples." She bristled fiercely, her scraggly fur standing on end. "You know that's not how we operate. _You_ seem to have trouble getting that into your scarred little head. But you don't have to worry about it. If you'd rather not kill him, then don't. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Just take your little shriveled self away and let Uncle Ratigan think, alright dear?" He patted her head condescendingly.

With the most unladylike oath she could recall, Leesha stormed out of the room.

Once she had left, Ratigan heaved a great sigh, pleased with himself. "Couldn't have orchestrated it better myself. Now for the next step." Raising his voice, he called, "Fidget? Get the girl and be quick about it, phase two of Operation Sanity is in place!"


	5. Remembered

**Note:** Sorry, this is not a new chapter, I'm having some trouble with fanfiction. Actually, though, I've gone back and revised/edited/combined several previous chapters, and am working on the rest of the chapters.

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He sat in his chair, staring at the fresh heap of firewood scattered on the hearth. His fingers moved to tune his violin, but he did not direct them. His mind was on everything and nothing all at once. _She was dead. They were both dead_. His Leesha—alive? But if that was true, then what was false? And if that was false, what was true? His mind reeled in dizzying circles as Reason and Logic whirled in his mind. _I can't break out. I'll suffocate!_ _No, stop, think. Breathe. Now, what did you do after you reported their murders to the police?_

"I prepared for their funerals." he answered himself aloud.

_Their__ funerals? Exactly who was buried that day?_

"You know perfectly well. Filly and… and…" He stared at the wall for a moment, stunned at his blindness. Vaulting to his feet he cried, "Why didn't I see it before? Stupid, bloody idiot that I am!" He threw on his cloak as the memories tumbled back. He had been too grief-stricken, too scattered, to care that no one had found Leesha's remains in the ashes of the bonfire. Trying to hold himself together he'd ordered a real grave dug for his wife and a memorial grave laid for his child. Body or no body, he would bury this pain.

That had begun his attempts to survive, to live despite the howling emptiness. He'd thrown his doors open to anyone who had a case, no matter how poor. Not out of charity, but out of the overwhelming drive to survive. If he hadn't hurled himself into something wholeheartedly, he would have been swallowed up in insanity.

Cursing himself for a belligerent fool, his paw grasped the doorknob. _I'll find Leesha, or die trying._ As he opened the door, the sound of a child's scream drifted to him on the faint, night breeze.

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Leesha sighed, allowing the knots in her gut to unwind. Ratigan had played her a nasty prank, of course, but he _was_ the boss, and therefore entitled to do things like that. _A sip o' th' strong might 'elp me relax e'en more,_ she thought, glancing toward the cupboard where she kept her flasks.

With a bang, her door flew open. Cursing in surprise, she jumped up, ready to flay the intruder three ways. She fell silent as she saw a thug named Sork carrying a bundle to her bed. The bundle was crying.

As Sork turned to leave, Leesha dashed to the door and barred his way. "What in all bloody 'eck is that?" she fumed.

Sork shifted from foot to foot. "Weyall... look 'ere Leesh, boss's orders. Gots ta put th' gurl somewhars 'till she's healed a bit."

Her eyes narrowed. "What gurl? An' healed? Whats 'e care unless…" Sork looked more uncomfortable by the second. "He did sum'in' to 'er, didn't 'e?" Grabbing his shirt she pulled him close and spat through clenched teeth, "Sork, so 'elp me if ye dunna tell me what 'appened I'll kick ye _thar_ so hard ye won't feel naught but pain 'till Friday!"

Squirming, he pleaded, " 'ey, 'ey, take it easy, Leesh. I'll tell right 'nuff, but t'ain't a purty story, even fer a crook. See, we got tha gurl, 'Livia, and when she lets loose, screamin' an' a yammerin' an' all that, Basil comes a'runnin' like 'e's got 'ornets in 'is coat."

She frowned. "Basil, th' bloke Ratigan sent me t' keel?"

He nodded. "Aye lass. Anyways, Basil comes up an' runnin' and Snicky ketches 'im up an' ties 'im tight. Then Ratigan takes tha gurl there an'… an'…" He closed his eyes at some gruesome memory. "Dumps 'er in tha flames like a wood chip."

Icy fear flowed down her spine as she released her grip on Sork's shirt.

"Well," he continued reluctantly, "Basil's strapped down hand an' foot, see, an' 'e starts a-howlin' like you ain't never 'eard in all yer days. Bloke looks like 'e's 'bout t' split wide open, archin' his back agin' the chair we tied 'im to an' all, when he goes real quiet an' limp alla sudden. Ratigan walks over an' sez, 'Why Basil, old chum, what's the matter? Surely you've forgotten what happened by now. Oh, don't worry about Leesha, she's…' " His eyes widened and he slapped himself. "Glory be if I ain't gone an' did it agin!" Muttering about the beatings he'd receive, he pushed past Leesha and fled down the hall.

'_at bloke Basil knew me already? What else hasn't th' blasted rat tol' me?_

Numbly, she strode over to the bed and unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a young mouseling, not more than seven or eight. She lay scrunched in a shivering ball of charred, furless flesh, her eyes squinched tight against the burning pain.

"Thar, thar," Leesha said awkwardly, "Dunna worry, ye'll be alright."

The girl opened deep brown eyes, filled with agony. "Make it stop." She begged.

Leesha knew all too well what the mousling meant.

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"_So where we put th' baggage?"_

"_Boss said t' give 'er a clean bed, feed 'er, an' not touch 'er. 'e sez th' burns'll heal sometime, but not if we touch 'er wit' our filt'y 'ands."_

"_Right, into bed wit' ya, Charcoal!"_

_Rough hands dumped her onto clean linens, the air and cloth stung her exposed skin, and she cried.._

"_Aw shaddup, whassa matter wit' ya? Yer on a clean bed, now shaddup and sleep!"_

"_I wan' my Father, where's Father?" she whimpered._

"_He's gone, Leesha," soothed a deep, gravelly voice. She tried to pull the covers over her head, but her arms wouldn't move. The rat was the one who had… had… what had he done? She couldn't remember. But if he hadn't done anything to her why was she so afraid of him?_

_He sat on her bed, taking her mangled paw in his own and stroking the melted flesh. She bit her lip, determined not to cry. "He left you all alone, he's not coming back."_

"_No! No!" She howled. "You liar! My Father will come and get me! My Father will come back and take me home you dirty rat, lemme go!" She pulled her paw free, and the pain of the movement sent her world spinning. She crumpled back, gasping…_

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Leesha avoided touching… What had Sork called her? Livia. "Livia, it'll be okay." She soothed. "The pain'll go 'way inn'a few days."

Big tears welled up in Livia's eyes as she nodded bravely. Leesha's emotions roiled. Rage, compassion, sympathy, confusion. Whispering, "I'll be back later, sleep a little," she left Livia and stormed out of the room.

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Red. It was all she could see as she flew down the hall, bowling over mice, lizards, and bats alike. Bursting into Ratigan's banquet hall, she prepared to give him the worst tongue-lashing of his life, when she saw what the rat had been up to. Skidding to a halt, she took in the scene with shock.

At the front of the hall stood the dais where Ratigan usually made his speeches about his grand achievements and newest plans, but his throne had been replaced with an iron-barred cage. Inside, chained by each limb to a metal ring in the cage floor, was Basil of Baker's Street. He stood, swaying from side to side, a blank look on his face.

She couldn't bring herself to move. Though he looked like the Basil she had been sent to kill, seeing him now was like knocking on a cast-iron statue and hearing the hollow ring inside. His impeccable suit was arrayed in perfection and his fur neatly combed, but his bloodshot eyes held no sign of life, not even the grief she had seen before.

Standing next to his cage was Ratigan, enjoying a one-sided conversation with the stoic detective.

"Oh Basil, do snap out of it," he smirked, "My boys here came for a show from you and they'll be so disappointed if they don't get it." The thugs booed and hissed, waving broken chair legs and clubs. "You're going to be the band's pet, or mascot, whichever you'd prefer, so you'll be here a while. You might as well learn some tricks."

Basil didn't even blink.

She had seen the look once before…

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_Agony, agony. The flames seared her, choking her, claiming her bit by torturous bit. She opened her eyes. It was Father! He was reaching out to her, but could not touch her. His eyes, she saw he was collapsing into himself. Despair swallowed him even as he tried vainly to save her. And his face, his face…_

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A shrill scream split through the jeers. Basil's left eye twitched, then stilled. Leesha pushed through the thugs, shoving to get to the cage. On reaching it, she collapsed against it, stretching her arms in through the bars.

"Da! Da…" she sobbed.

No response.

"How sweet," Ratigan purred, "reunited after all these years. I wondered how long it would take you to remember."

Shrieking with rage, she flung herself at him, claws outstretched. He laughed and snatched her flailing claws as he ordered his gaurds, "Take this young whoremouse back to her room and lock it." He whispered in her ear, "I'll be in to discuss this with you later."


	6. Rescue

Fury drove Leesha to pace as the girl on her bed watched anxiously.

"Water… please," she croaked.

Instantly Leesha stopped and hurried to fetch her water jug. Sitting on Livia's bed, she let the soothing liquid fall into her mouth, careful to keep the porcelain from touching the child's scorched lips. Leesha didn't need to be a nurse to know that Livia was running a high fever and developing infection.

_Blast th' stupid rat! If he'd only lemme take th' gurl t' a right proper 'ospital, she wouldn't get no scarrin' like I 'ave._ She gazed at her lumpy paws mournfully. _What am I doin'? Why'm I waitin' aroun'? 'e ain't goin' t' do nothin' for 'er. _Decision hardened in her, and she bent to whisper in Livia's ear.

"Now listen 'ere, Livia, it's real important. I know yer in lots o' pain, an' I know that everythin' what touches ye 'urts like th' blazes, but whate'er I do, ye mustn't cry or make no noise, understan'?" Livia nodded, her eyes wide. "Good, cause I'm gonna break us out o' here."

"What about Mr. Basil?" The child's sad tone wrenched at Leesha.

"I dunno, Livia," she said honestly, "But I gots t' git ye outta here first. It's what Mr. Basil would want, 'ey?" With that, she pushed aside her nightstand and pressed a panel in the wall. A tiny slot opened and she withdrew a small, leather pouch. She walked over to the door and rapped on it.

"No Leesh," came a whiny voice, "Y'know boss's orders, ya can't come out."

"Sork, c'm'ere, I gots a proposal."

"Awww Lessh, is dis gonna get me in trouble?"

"Prob'ly, but I kin make it worth yer while."

There was a brief silence, followed by the sound of a key turning in a lock. Sork peeked his head in, curious. Leesha pulled out the pouch and briefly showed him the contents. Gaping, he listened as she whispered in his ear. He shook his head and muttered something, to which Leesha sighed and nodded.

She tore a sleeve off her shirt and wadded it up. Crossing the room, she placed it in Livia's mouth. " 'ere, Livia. If ye gets t' 'urtin' too much, bite down 'ard, alright?" Livia closed her eyes tightly in answer. Gently, Leesha wrapped Livia in a dark blanket, trying to block out her groans, and gathered the bundle into her arms.

She passed through the open door and slipped two diamonds into Sork's leathery paw. His eyes followed the pair as Leesha slunk along the passage toward the exit.

"Best o' luck t' th' two o' ye." he whispered sadly.

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_Did I do th' right thing?_ Worry tormented her as she scurried back into Ratigan's lair.

_Dunna be stupid,_ she chided, _Course ye did right. Got th' gurl t' th' 'ospital, didn't ye?_

_But yer savin's! Yer hoard!_

_Went t' a good cause. Had t' get Livia out._

_What's left fer ye naw though? Ratigan'll kill ye when 'e finds out._

_I'll take me diamon's an' move somewheres else._

_While we're at it, how ye figure on getting' Basil outta that birdcage?_

She ducked behind a wine cask as two mice swaggered by, giggling drunkenly. How _was_ she going to get him free? She pursed her lips in thought.

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Snicky and the other thugs set to guard Basil caroused around his cage in a drunken version of "Ring around the Posies". They were about to carry on with "London Bridge is Falling Down" when a harsh, guttural voice cut their merriment short.

" 'Oy Lads. Boss sent me t' pick up this load o' baggage."

The speaker was a tall mouse in a ragged black trenchcoat with a black cloth face mask.

Snicky reeled over and slurred, "An' who might ye be?"

The stranger shoved him aside. "My name's none o' yer business. Ratigan wants th' mouse now!"

"Reeeeeeely," he sniggered. "Weyall, we'll jus' han' 'im over t' ye then. 'e ain't no fun nohow. But wha's th' password?"

The stranger stiffened. "Password? What password? Ratigan didn't give me no password!"

Snickster winked at his giggling comerades. "O, forgot t' give ye th' password, did 'e? Oh dear, much too bad, much much too bad. Looks like ye'll 'ave to pay th' password tax."

"Password tax!" the stranger exploded angrily. "What nonsense!"

The lizard shrugged. "If ye want t' go an' face th' boss without th' mouse, be m'guest."

The stranger growled and fished out a leather pouch and handed it to Snickster, who snatched it greedily.

"Glory be!" he whooped, "Bag's chock fulla bloody diamon's! Let 'im loose, chaps!"

A key was procured and Basil's cage opened. Next his chains were removed from the floor, but remained locked around his wrists and ankles.

He didn't budge.

Shrugging, Snicky explained, " 'e's been that way all bleeding day. Don't sleep, don't eat, don't drink. Jus' stands an' stares."

The stranger snatched Basil's chains and tugged them hard. The bewildered detective stepped out and followed the black clad figure in a daze as he was led out of the hall.

Nearly dragging Basil, Leesha hurried through twists and turns and roundabouts designed to confuse outsiders. Every moment she was sure she would hear someone coming to get them, but nothing happened.

With a cry of relief, she spotted the exit and dashed out. The sight that met her eyes pulled her up short so quickly that Basil slammed into her from behind.

"You're late, Leesha." Ratigan sneered.

Leesha's knees buckled. Ratigan and his whole gang had the exit surrounded, and even as she turned around, they blocked off the tunnel she had come from. She was too frightened to protest when Snicky wrenched Basil's chains from her clenched paws.

"Sorry Leesh," he snarled, "But my loyalties lie wit' th' boss, unlike some mice I know." He cast a pointed glare at Sork, bound and gagged at Ratigan's feet. Slowly, Leesha brought her eyes up to face Ratigan. _I know I done right,_ she told herself as he approached her, _I'll die knowin' I did some'tin' right._

He towered over her. His face was pale and his voice quiet. "You dare betray me?" Leesha made no reply. His claws whipped out and slashed Leesha's eyes. Her world went black, and she howled in pain. She stumbled back and rough hands shoved her forward… _Which way is forward?_ Hands grabbed her shirt and Ratigan's enraged voice screeched, "Did you really think you could free him, you bloody chunk of cat bait? Even if you'd gotten him home, he would never be the same again. He would not know up from down. Can't you see that, you used lump of charcoal? I made him go insane! He's in such deep mental shock, he will never come out of it again!"

"No," she whimpered, "Da—"

"Da? DA?" he lashed out, striking her, "He doesn't have the intellect of a stone much less a father. Face it, Leesha." She crumpled to the cold, hard cobblestones, sobbing.

He took her paw and stroked it, cooing, "Don't worry about him. He'll be well fed and looked after by my men. He won't even know that he's on display every day. Who knows," he chuckled evilly, "Perhaps he'll recover enough for me to teach him simple tricks. As for you, you are, how shall we put this, released from duty to me."

Horrified, she groped around, trying to find the filthy rat and wring his neck, but she could see nothing.

"That's right you street-slut. Blind and without a talent to your name, that's all you'll be able to do. Maybe I'll drop by occasionally, although I'll probably be the only one who will be able to stand the sight of your mangled body." With that, Ratigan tore off her clothing.

Cold air rushed onto her skin and tears seeped from her sightless eyes. The jeers and catcalls started, and she felt hands sliding over her corded, leathery skin. She swung with her paws wildly, but couldn't see where she hit. A fist knocked her to the ground, and she heard zippers pull down. Curling into a ball, she prayed for death.

A loud baying hushed the crowd. A sharp bark came, louder this time, and she felt the crowd withdrawing hurriedly. Somewhere she heard a shrill, hate-filled scream. By the feel of the wind rushing past her, the thugs were running for their lives. Shivering, she crawled to her feet and tottered forward. _'Opefully the pup's friendly._ She held her hands out beseechingly. " 'ere doggy, good doggy, do 'elp, won't ye?"

A large, wet tongue lapped at her, and she heard a friendly snuffling.

"Good heavens! Basil!" She frowned at the strange voice. It came towards her, calling, "Basil! Old chap, this way! What the blazes are you staring about for? We must leave before Ratigan's minions come down on us all! I—Oh great Scott!" Ashamed, she realized the stranger had caught sight of her. Before she could say anything, a jacket had been flung over her shoulders.

"There there, madam." he soothed. "You'll be safe now. Just climb up on Toby now. I'll get Basil and we'll go to his house. His housekeeper will find you suitable clothing. Ah, Basil? Basil, over here!" His voice grew fainter as he left her side.

Trembling, she said, "Ah, er, Toby?" she was rewarded by a friendly bark. "Toby then, will ye 'elp me up lad? I canna see." A huge whooshing sound surrounded her, and when she felt forward she found the dog's muzzle laid on the ground. Gingerly Leesha climbed up, aided by Toby's yips of encouragement and warning growls whenever she was in danger of climbing out onto thin air.

By the time she had found a place to anchor herself, the gentleman, who introduced himself as Dr. Dawson, had shoved Basil onto the eager puppy. Without another word they were off.

The wind on her cheeks caressed her, drying her tears. She leaned down and put her nose in Toby's fur, breathing in the sweaty-sweet doggy smells.

_I'm free._


	7. Healing

Time waits for no man, or mouse, and a month passed unusually swiftly. In that time, Leesha had become very handy with a cane, and finding her way around Basil's house was easy. Dr. Dawson had done the best he could, but the filth in Ratigan's claws had infected her eyes. The damage was permanent.

"Don't worry, my dear," he said sincerely, "You did a very brave thing. Olivia has finally recovered and wants to see you soon. Mr. Flaversham dug into his rainy day savings and was able to pay a good plastic surgeon and burns specialist to heal her skin. She looks good as new! And Basil, well…" he sighed and patted her shoulder, "At least he's eating on his own again."

"Still won't speak t' no one?"

"No, he still won't speak to _anyone_."

Leesha smirked. Dr. Dawson meant well, but she had lived on the streets too long to relearn proper speech patterns.

"Ach! My cakes! My cheese crumpets!" The smell of burnt pastries reached her shortly after the housekeeper's shrill voice.

"Ah, excuse me dear," Dr. Dawson mumbled, "I must try to calm her down. Those precious cheese crumpets of hers and all. Here," he shoved a loaded tray into her hands. "Would you take this up to Basil? It's nearly tea time." He sighed sadly. "He did so love his tea."

"I'm not yer dear," she muttered, but carried the tray upstairs to Basil's room.

Opening the door, she counted ten steps until she reached his bed. Gently, she whispered, "Da? Da, ye awake?" A slight rustling of the covers answered her. She gently set the tray in his lap. "Eat up, Da, smells like a feast. If I'm not wrong, tha's yer favorite mint leaf tea wit' a big ol' helping of unburnt cheese crumpets." She laughed quietly. "Yer poor 'ouskeeper's drivin' us all mad wit' 'er obsessions. Every'tin's got t' be perfect fer when ye snap out'a it. Da? Ye will snap out'a it, won't ye?" All she heard was the crunch of cheese crumpets, followed by the occasional sip of tea.

When she thought he was finished, she moved the tray out of the way. Cuatiously, she sat on the bed and took his smooth, furred paws in her own fleshy ones. She stroked them softly as she sang.

_Alone on th' vast an' wildest sea_

_I 'eard th' wind cry out t' me_

"_Go back t' yer home, yer needed thar_

_Yer mother's tears soak thru 'er hair_

_Yer father's silent fears scream loud_

_An' covers 'is mind in confusin' shroud."_

_An' so I screamed unto th' sea_

"_I'll come no more, nor sail on thee_

_My absence caused me fam'ly grief_

_If I start I'll be 'ome by th' first green leaf."_

_But th' sea called back_

_In fury quite black_

"_We'll not let ye go, ye can't leave now_

_Ye've served us long, jus' keep at th' prow."_

_But I shut up me ears and turned me ship 'ome_

_An' I ne'er looked back on th' watery foam_

_I look back on me years, an' I solidly know_

_I made th' right choice, an' it's caused me no woe._

"Leesha?" She gasped. She hadn't heard that voice since the night she'd come to kill...

"Da?" she asked hopefully, "Da, is it you?"

"Leesha."

She felt for his face and stroked his cheek. She felt a smile pull at his face as he touched her hands and slipped into a peaceful sleep.

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"A little left. Good, now straight ahead."

Basil leaned heavily on his daughter's arm as he directed her path. Though he had recovered from the damage in his mind, he would never fully regain his strength. Dr. Dawson often commented worriedly about how Basil's tan fur had gone silver overnight, but Basil always dismissed him with a witty remark.

Leesha smiled proudly. _My Da's so smart._

Ever since she'd woken her father from his shock, she'd been getting bits of information about her past. She had been seven when Ratigan took her, and had spent seven years serving him, which made her fourteen. She was thrilled just to know how old she was!

Also, Dawson had calmed Basil's fears, informing him that Ratigan wouldn't bother him again. Apparently the night they had been rescued, Toby had spotted the enraged rat and had bitten his head off. Basil had smiled weakly, relieved that he could rest safely at last.

"There, stop Leesha. We're here." She halted and eased him to a sitting position. The smell of fresh, green grass was everywhere, and birds sang in the sky. _I never 'eard none o' this b'fore, mebbe th' extra hearin' and smellin's a blessin' reserved fer th' blind._

She knelt down and Basil placed her paws on a smooth slab of marble standing upright. "This whar Ma is?"

"Yes dear, this is where I buried Filly."

"Da?"

"Yes, Leesha?"

"I'm glad I'm yer Dear."

They sat in silence. No words were needed, so no words were spoken. Each knew that an deeper healing had begun.

The End


End file.
